


Don’t bring me down

by Miasmatique



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Reveal, M/M, Mind Games, They just talk, might be slightly OOC?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 12:45:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20340322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miasmatique/pseuds/Miasmatique
Summary: It’s been calm in Gotham for such a long time, when Bruce receives an invitation to one of those high society parties, he accepts it without hesitation. It starts as yet another boring evening and it remains this way - that is until a mysterious, but somehow familiar man approaches Bruce.





	Don’t bring me down

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I want to apologize in advance for the mistakes and for probably not the best writing style. English is my second language! 
> 
> The title comes from the song I’ve been listening to a lot in the recent times. I recommend to check it out!
> 
> If you enjoy, let me know. If you don’t enjoy - let me know too. :)

There’s something soothing in the view of the gold dripping chandeliers, the clacking of the tall fragile glasses filled with expensive champagne, the low rustle of the chattering voices. Women in the dresses of silk, accompanied by men in their suits of Arabic wool. The all-polite atmosphere, the elegancy, the calmness...

Oh, yes, the _calmness_. It’s been calm in Gotham for such a long time, Bruce has been on a look-out for a ticking bomb, expecting literally anything to blow out, as sudden and as uninvited as it always is. But nothing has happened. Not yet, at least, and there is this very little tiny part of Bruce that adds a huge stretch on the word „yet” - and it’s filled with hope.

When Alfred handed him an invitation, Bruce didn’t even hesitate. He thought that going to this party would - if not entertain him - at least take his mind of tracks.

And there he is: having a courteous chit-chat about the behavioral economics with the host of the whole party, whose name he doesn’t even care to remember. He finds himself lose the interest quickly, and he takes a long look at the dining area, the ballroom, and the orchestra. There’s an entresol too, most of it invisible for him - aside from one man, whose unique, expensive suit in the ivory color pops out in the shadowed area.

Bruce tries to focus again, pretend he’s not interested in the surroundings more than in the talk. And all he can think about is for salvation to come. At this point he can’t even decide if he missed those small talks or the hatred for the small talks.

Eventually, the host wanders off, probably to entertain some who will actually be invested in the conversation. Bruce is left alone, and he can’t really complain. He approaches the bar, only to lean with his back against it.

He keeps off the alcohol, and the waiters know it. Still, one comes over and asks him (rather rudely, in his opinion): „You don’t drink?”. He spins around, ready to tell the waiter off, and then he notices his mistake. He smiles apologetically.

„I’m sorry, I took you for the--” he freezes.

The man in front of him just waves his hand. He’s as tall as Bruce, he’s dressed twice as sharply - and he’s wearing an ivory-colored suit. His voice is low:

„I don’t drink either. Damaging your body is one thing, but damaging your brain?” He shakes his head. He has a peculiar, long beard with rather impressive sideburns which Bruce can’t help but stare at for too long - and the man of course notices it. „I know what you think. I’m actually proud of how it looks like.”

„I’m sorry” Bruce blurts.

„You apologize waaay too much, my friend” he winks.

Bruce smiles lightly in response. His new companion is not only rude, he decides, but also bold. Suddenly, the evening appears to be more interesting.

„I can assure you, I am not that passive in my daily life” Bruce says.

The man laughs shortly, the sound somehow familiar.

„And what is it that you do, mister Wayne?”

He stands up and Bruce automatically follows him. They walk away from the dining area, pass by the ballroom filled with the dancing guests. It takes Bruce some time to answer.

“Well... I mostly focus on investigating whatever might be a threat to my company. It means meeting with many people and trying to outsmart them.”

“You’re precautious, one could say?”

“I simply care a lot about the... safety. And you...?”

They come across a crowd that tightens around them, and they can’t walk side by side anymore. Bruce lets his companion go first. He furrows his brow - there’s something oddly familiar about the way the man walks.

“I’m a businessman” he says, as they walk out of the group of people. “The business I run requires, let’s say, creativity. I don’t rely on my people. But I need them by my side nevertheless. So, you need to know how to order them.”

“It doesn’t sound difficult.”

They reach the balcony and they go outside. The fresh air hits them both pleasantly, a contrast to the heated atmosphere inside. The sky is clear tonight, but the stars are barely visible due to the lights of the never sleeping city spreading beneath them.

They approach the balustrade. The bearded man leans against it and stares ahead.

“It’s not difficult” he finally replies “It only takes a while of practice for some. And the others... are born with it.”

Something in his words makes Bruce shiver. He narrows his eyes, observing his companion carefully as if looking for the answer to some kind of a riddle. He doesn’t get himself bothered for too long though, as they take on a new subject. He’s surprised at how easy it is for them to talk.

“It’s funny” Bruce says at some point “You remind me of someone, but I have no idea of whom. Haven’t we met before?”

That’s the moment when the man bows his head as if trying to hide his face - his shoulders shudder, and for one moment Bruce thinks he said something wrong, but then... he hears a laughter. It’s a silent sound at first, but it grows and it certainly comes from the bearded man’s chest. Suddenly Bruce gets all the wrong feelings about this. He realizes he can feel his heart thump in his chest as his worst assumption makes its way into his mind.

“Actually” the bearded man speaks up in a serious tone, as he stops laughing “you remind me of someone too. But unlike you, I know who.” He lifts his head. “I _knew_ the moment I saw you.”

They stare at each other, none of them moves. Bruce doesn’t _dare_ to move, he’s feeling like trapped in time. He knows perfectly well what the man actually means.

“Who are you?” He asks, his voice stone cold.

“I think you know at this point” The man clears his throat then, and when he speaks again, it’s nothing like the baritone anymore. “This sounds more like it, I reckon. Rings a bell, Bruce? Or should I say: _Batman_?”

In one second his worst assumption became reality.

“Silence!” He hisses. He doesn’t take an eye out of his enemy, as he closes the door to the balcony. “What are you doing here?” He clenches and opens his fists repetitively, trying to release the tension from his body. Now that he knows what to look for, he can only yell at his stupidity in his mind - the artificial beard, all the little gestures, that characteristic, empty look in the eyes... if not the lack of make-up and the addition of the extravagant golden-white suit, he would have recognized the Joker immediately.

The clown raises his hands as if to prove his innocence.

“I simply got an invitation, just like you.”

Bruce is at him in less than a second. He grabs Joker by his collar and he hits him against the balustrade so hard, the sound of the clash echoes between the walls.

“Why. Are you. Here?!” he growls.

“Now, that’s the Bat I know!” Joker smiles.

Bruce feels a delicate sting near his navel. He doesn’t need to look down to know that it’s the Joker’s switchblade. He remembers he’s not wearing his armor now. And he’s well aware of the fact that the Joker doesn’t play fair.

“Talk” he nudges nevertheless.

“I wouldn’t like to ruin your oh-how-precious suit. And lucky for me, we both know you wouldn’t dare to ruin mine.”

“We’re alone here” Batman tries to threaten.

“Oh, please” Joker snorts. “Don’t make me question your detective skills.”

They both know they’re not alone. Not with the guests, who could enter the balcony anytime. Not with the well hidden guards underneath and inside. And certainly not with the cameras, unnoticeable for ordinary men.

That bluff was worth a try anyway.

As if spoken of the devil, the door to the balcony opens. Some women sway in, giggling. Suddenly Bruce finds himself between the Joker’s legs, as the clown weaves his free hand around Bruce’s neck and tugs him in so close, their noses almost touch. From this distance Joker’s eyes seem as dark as the night, his body vibrates a pleasant warmth and his fingers on Bruce’s skin send shivers down his spine.

Bruce feels the stinging pain at his stomach increase, and it’s like a slap in the face.

“Oh, this place is taken!” they hear.

Someone apologizes for interrupting.

The doors to the balcony close with a click.

Joker pushes him away and Bruce lets go of the Joker in the same time. The clown hides the switchblade and makes a few steps away, not looking at Wayne anymore. He theatrically dusts his suit off, and for a longer moment neither of them says anything. For some odd reason, which Bruce can’t quite comprehend, he suddenly feels hot.

“Aaand that’s when we were having a nice evening.” Joker is the one to break the silence, but he still doesn’t face Wayne. “You always ruin everything.”

Bruce just watches his back, trying to read his mind, but as always - fails.

“What are you planning?”

“Nothing! Nothing, really!” He turns around and waves his finger at his enemy, as if scolding a naughty child. “But don’t you agitate me!” he laughs.

Bruce is not amused, and it quickly makes Joker lose his humor too. The clown directs himself at the door, ready to leave, but then stops right before gripping the handle.

“Hungry?” Bruce hears.

He’s not.

“Yeah” he nods.

Following the clown through the ballroom feels like a dream this time. The music thumping in his ears like a plane readying to take off. The heat, the humidity causing the pearls of sweat to appear on his forehead. The light, so vibrant it’s almost blinding. And all the people around them, completely unaware of the threat.

When they reach the dining area, Bruce feels sick.

The hour is late, most tables are vacant, and so he lets Joker choose the table - they are seated in the furthest and darkest part of the restaurant. It’s by one of the huge windows, offering a view to the city below. There’s a lamp too, which is turned off to make the view more visible. It remains this way, as Joker sits in the shadow - he almost blends in with the environment. Bruce takes place en face.

They look at the card without saying anything, and when the waitress approaches them, they order quickly.

The silence drops over them again.

“The beard—” Bruce starts, but he’s immediately interrupted.

“Ah, it works pretty well, doesn’t it? Fooled even you!”

Bruce grits his teeth.

“It doesn’t suit you” he admits.

“Of course. It’s very uncomfortable too.” As he says that, Joker grabs a piece of the beard, somewhere under his chin, and peels it off, wincing. He runs his palm over his now bare skin and moves his jaw to release the tension from the muscles. “Much better!”

Bruce watches him. Without the make-up, Joker seems to look almost normal. If not the scars, of course. They are barely visible in the shadows, and so he can’t decide if they look better or worse without the paint.

“Ah, what’s up with that frown?” Joker asks innocently. “Oh, is it the scars?” There’s a sudden change to his tone of voice, all the amusement washes off. “Wanna know how I got them?” There’s no reaction, and apparently Joker takes it as a yes. “I used to be a... good man, you know? I had a job in medicine, I was helping people. But with all the lives I was saving, there were even more lives I couldn’t save. It was making me so, so depressed, so sad... And the people I worked with were asking me: what’s wrong? Why are you so sad?” Suddenly there’s a switchblade in his fingers, its blade hidden - he presses it against his chin, and if he activates the mechanism, it will pierce him through. He continues: “One day I looked at myself in the mirror, I slipped the knife into my mouth and I asked in my mind: why am I so sad? And then I just—”

Bruce doesn’t let him finish as he jerks forward and grabs him by his wrist. He takes the switchblade away and it must be the funniest thing in Joker’s life, because it makes him laugh so hard, Wayne needs to calm him down and silence him with a threat of ruining the confiscated weapon.

“How did they even let you in with that knife?” he grunts, angered by the story.

“Don’t you worry, Bat, I’ve got some tricks up my sleeves”

Bruce doesn’t comment on that, doesn’t doubt it either. He thinks about what the clown just told him - he’s certain the story is fake, it must be. If it was true, that would mean Batman and Joker had much more in common than the vigilante would ever want to admit. He’s already had enough of those little, annoying facts the criminal was always throwing into his face, whenever they were playing their mind games on one another. He doesn’t like it when Joker is right - but unfortunately for him, it happens definitely too often.

The waitress approaches them again and puts the plates on the table. To Wayne’s surprise, Joker thanks.

“Will you tell me why you are here?” Bruce comes back to the abandoned subject.

“Will you believe me if I say I only wanted to have a dinner with an old friend?”

“Maybe. Or maybe not.”

Joker can’t help but laugh.

“On, you really do want me to spice this evening up, don’t you?” He stuffs his mouth with a large portion of his steak and points at Bruce with an empty fork. “I knew Batman must be someone rich, someone of the high society. Let’s say, my curiosity took over me tonight and I decided to polish my detective skills.”

“You were looking for me...? That’s all?”

“No. No. I was looking for Batman. You simply happened to fit in perfectly!”

As impossible as it may sound, the frown on Bruce’s face turns even gloomier. He wants to ask what gave him away, but he won’t do it. It would be like admitting defeat. And he certainly doesn’t feel defeated. Not yet.

Still, for some strange reason, Joker observing him from the shadow feels like a hunter stalking its prey. The Batman should be the hunter here - not the clown. It feels unsettling. It feels like Bruce is losing his advance... he doesn’t even allow himself to think that he lost it already, the moment the criminal laid his eyes on him and thought: “That’s him!”.

A wide grin makes its way into the Joker’s face.

“I can almost hear the gears turning in that Bat-brain.” His voice is like silk. “How did he got here, Bat’s thinking. Why is he eating with me? What is he plotting?”

“Don’t use the Batman here” he hisses.

“Your food’s gettin’ cold, Bat”

Bruce growls under his breath. He can’t even express how much he hates the situations like this. How much he loathes this crazy man sitting in front of him. How much he would give away for a chance to rip that smug smile off Joker’s face right now, right this second.

He can’t even express how much he missed this.

He digs in his food, finally. It seems to taste as bluntly as everything else.

“You seemed to be more talkative back in the ballroom. Has a small change of the company ruined your mood?” the clown asks.

“You want to talk - then talk.”

Joker rolls his eyes, clearly impatient.

“I told you already, Bat. I was only looking for some mild entertainment, that’s all. Frankly, I’m not in the mood for the fireworks.”

“What are you in mood for?”

“A fancy dinner. Really, Bruce. Me? Plotting something? Why do you think so low of me?”

Bruce almost chokes with his food.

“Isn’t it what you always do? You destroy and ruin everything you touch. And I’m sitting here with you, just waiting for this ticking bomb you set up to go off at any moment.”

“You should probably relax.”

“You’re crazy, Joker. What do you want me to expect?”

It must trigger something in the criminal’s mind, because his expression suddenly changes, the cocky calmness disappears.

“I’m not crazy” he says steadily.

Bruce feels he’s getting back in control.

“I know thousands of thoughts pass your mind every second” he continues “but has there never been one considering this simple fact?” He waits for the response, but Joker seems to be more invested in his food than in anything else. “There’s no morality in you. You have no noble values. You’re sick threatening, you can only destroy and you have no respect for people’s lives. You’re dangerous to the society.” He makes a pause, and Joker looks at him with narrowed eyes. “That’s why you are crazy” Bruce finishes.

“I am not crazy...” Joker whispers firmly.

“Oh, yes, you are.”

Suddenly the clown launches forward and hits his fist against the table so hard the plates almost jump, and everyone in the restaurant falls silent as he growls: “I SAID I’M NOT!”

He’s breathing heavily, eyeing Bruce from above with a murderous look. None of them stares away, and Bruce feels like he won a fight, but there’s no satisfaction in him. He pushed Joker and triggered him, and it should feel right since Joker is a devil in disguise, but... on the contrary, it only feels wrong.

Joker sits back, eventually, adjusts his tie and comes back to eating, as if nothing has ever happened. The chattering noise returns to the restaurant.

It’s not long when their waitress approaches them, clearly worried, and asks quietly:

“Excuse me, is this gentleman bothering you, sir?”

Bruce opens his mouth ready to answer, and it takes him a second to realize the question wasn’t targeted at him.

“Everything’s fine, beautiful.” Joker says through clenched teeth. “I was finished here anyway” He uses a napkin and throws it at the table, glaring at Wayne, and he’s about to stand up, when...

“Wait!” Bruce speaks up. He looks at the waitress. “We’ll have two cups of tea, please.” He feels Joker’s heavy look on himself, and corrects himself: “I meant, two cups of coffee...?”

Joker’s jaw muscles move, and it’s only noticeable for Bruce.

“One tea, one whiskey with ice, please” the clown says lightly, thanks the waitress for her wonderful service, and leans back in his seat. He’s not amused, he doesn’t take an eye out of Bruce... He waits.

“I thought you don’t drink” Wayne tries to start a conversation, but Joker cuts it quickly with a short: “I lied”.

For a moment Bruce thinks he should have let the clown go, get rid of the problem. But on the other hand if he did so, Joker would be on the loose now, doing only-Devil-knows-what. Besides... what if what Joker said was true? What if he really only wanted to talk, and all Bruce could do so far was ruining the evening?

“Look” he clears his throat “I didn’t want to upset you.”

Joker laughs.

“Give me a break. We both now it’s the _last_ thing you don’t want to do.” He cocks his head. “You love those little games of ours just as much as I do. What infuriates me is when you talk about things you don’t understand.”

“Alright, then explain it to me.” Batman decides to play as he’s told to.

“Cliché” the clown says only one word, and this time Bruce needs to admit - he really doesn’t understand. Joker notices his confusion, and some sort of an impatient sound escapes his mouth. “You repeat empty phrases, which are nothing more than a commonplace. The people who are below us talk like that. It’s just... it would be so disappointing if you really meant those words. Because, you see, I always mean every word I say. Every word. And you... unless you were joking, which - as we both know - doesn’t happen, you just fell really, really low and it angered me, Bat. It angered me a lot.” He shifts in his place. “I’ve had high hopes set for you, and now all you do is bring me down.”

Bruce can feel his stomach clench. Luckily for him, the waitress approaches them again. They wait for her to walk away, Joker drumming his fingers on the table. Wayne gives himself more time for answer though - he drinks his tea, thinking. He knows that whatever he says right now, it will leave impact.

“Are you sure?” Yes, that’s all he could think of.

“About what?”

“That you were angered about what I said, and not about the truth.” He knows those words are ultimately the worst right now the moment he starts to talk. He corrects himself quickly: “Help me understand. If you are not... insane... then what are you?”

Joker bursts with laughter, the sound that is far from being sane.

“Look, here’s the thing. Do I cause havoc?” He pauses, observing Bruce’s reactions. He speaks slowly, as if explaining to an idiot that the sky is blue: “Do I kill people? Do I play mind tricks? Do I torture? Do I steal? Am I dangerous? The list can go on and on, but finally: do I love it all?” A cocky smile makes its way into his lips. “You know the answer to all these questions. And I - unlike an insane person - am very well aware of every single thing I do. I know I’m plain evil. And so, that’s how we reach the final question: do I care, Bat?”

“No” Bruce answers, without even thinking.

“Do you understand now?”

If Joker is not crazy, then Batman is a saint. Wayne drinks his tea instead of replying, and suddenly feels jealous of Joker’s whiskey. It seems to satisfy the clown though, and once more - their table remains calm.

“It’s been quiet recently, wasn’t it?” the criminal points to the window with his glass.

Bruce is somewhat relieved he’s not the only one who noticed.

“Maybe it’s a calm before the storm”

“No” Joker takes a sip of his drink. “Everyone’s either dead or in a lock-up. And people are afraid of the Batman, who, by the way, is so confident that he takes the nights off now. There are no real criminals anymore.”

“What about you?”

He glances at Bruce. A faint light of the moon catches a glimpse of mischief in his eye, as he says: “I’m the Clown Prince of Crime. What else do you want?”

Wayne sighs. He’s surprised that it takes him a lot of courage to say:

“I just... I thought you were gone.”

“Is this longing that I hear?” He laughs under his breath. “Just because I lay low, it doesn’t mean I’m gone. Don’t take it wrong, Batman. I like you. But you’re not my main attraction in this looney-town.”

What is the main attraction?, he wants to ask. But he doesn’t. It would mean that he cares.

“I think those times are near when the Batman might be gone” Bruce says. He expects some kind of reaction, but what he gets is just a silent approval. He needs to admit, it hurts.

He peers outside the window as well. The hour is late, the streets are empty. There’s almost nobody left in the restaurant, and he feels an idea forming in his head, a desire.

“Can I turn the light on?”

Joker’s eyes immediately switch to him. He sips his whiskey lazily.

“Why?”

“I’d like to see...” he hesitates between ‘the scars’ and ‘your face’, but ends up saying neither.

The clown puts his glass on the table and replies as calmly as he can:

“I am not some zoo’s showpiece, Bat”

“Of course you’re not” Bruce doesn’t lose his confidence. “You know my face, though. I thought it would be a fair exchange” he reasons.

Joker’s judging him from the shadow for a longer while, and finally he must decide it will be harmless, because he leans in, resting his elbows on the table, and nods.

Wayne doesn’t wait for him to change his mind - he turns the lamp on. The light uncovers the criminal’s features, and that’s how Batman gets to see the Joker’s face for the first time. He realizes he’s been holding his breath.

The first thing he notices are the scars of course, but he doesn’t let himself linger over them too long - not now, at least. The second thing are the eyes, almost piercing him through. He takes a wider look, studying, trying to memorize every tiny fragment. Tall forehead, square jaw, wide nose. It’s a handsome face, he’s surprised to discover, if not that one, little detail...

His eyes focus back on the scars. They’re ugly. No doubts now, they’re certainly worse without the make-up, the deformed skin more visible. The judging look Joker serves him suddenly makes Bruce nervous, as if the clown could read his mind.

“Can you...” he clears his throat “can you close your eyes?”

The look Joker gives him tells him that he’s an idiot.

“And you claim I am the one who’s crazy? What, didn’t you have enough already?” He doesn’t back up though, and curiosity probably wins in his silent battle within. “Give me back my switchblade.”

“I know this can’t be your only weapon” Nevertheless, Bruce places it on the table between them.

“It’s my favorite” A corner of Joker’s lips rises.

He tucks the blade closer in and... he closes his eyes. He shifts for a moment, looking for a comfortable position, and he freezes, ready for absolutely anything.

Bruce feels his throat go dry. He can literally do anything now. He can leave, unnoticed. He can punch his enemy in the face (and then probably get attacked on with a knife). But he doesn’t do either - he uses this tiny bit of trust Joker gave him, he leans in and he investigates the scars from up close.

_Who did this to you_? he thinks, trying to imagine the pain the man must have felt when he was hurt. Then, his suffering through the surely long process of healing. And now, the well of madness he fell into, when he saw his reflection in the mirror.

Suddenly Bruce feels like it’s too much, like he needs to do something.

He reaches out with his hand, hesitating for a moment, and he hovers his fingertips above one of the scars. He delicately brushes the deformed skin, touching it as barely as if it was made from porcelain. He’s looking for some reaction from Joker, but there’s none.

“Are you doing something to my face?” the clown speaks up abruptly, his voice annoyed.

He didn’t feel it, Bruce realizes, and it makes his heart ache. He knows he can let it be now, pretend that he didn’t do anything, but... there’s a part of him that doesn’t want it. He finds himself feel sorry for the madman.

“Bat, are we done y—” Joker’s voice breaks, as he suddenly feels the back of Batman’s palm caress his cheek. It’s tender like a feather, it feels compassionate, and Joker realizes nobody has ever touched him like this.

Bruce doesn’t stop there though, no. He traces the scar’s line with his thumb, gently enough for Joker to know that he accepts it, that it doesn’t disgust him, and firmly enough for both of them to _feel_ the touch.

He sees the criminal take a heavy, a bit shaky breath.

“Are you...” Joker tries to get back the control of his voice, but fails. His eyelids flutter.

“Eyes closed” Batman reminds him quietly.

The clown freezes again, but he’s not as calm anymore. All his muscles tense, his chest moves slowly but visibly with each breath.

Bruce actually hopes he’s not causing him pain - not this time. He opens his palm, cups the criminal’s head. His thumb circles around each crease and hump steadily, the skin underneath surprisingly soft and not rasp as he thought it to be. It should probably disgust him, as it is so unnatural and imperfect, but it doesn’t. He slides the finger down, to the corner of Joker’s mouth. He runs it against the lower lip, scarred as well, it slightly parts under his touch and in this moment he knows he can lean in and—

“Stop...” Joker murmurs. He opens his eyes, his fist clenches on the switchblade. “Enough!” He falls back, as far from Bruce as he can.

He’s breathing heavily and he’s looking everywhere but at Wayne. He activates the mechanism of the blade on and off repetitively. He runs his fingers through his hair.

“I—” he starts, and laughs shortly, dryly. He grabs his glass of whiskey and takes a long sip from it.

Bruce feels like he needs to say something.

“I’m sorry”

“No, don’t.” Joker shakes his head. He raises his free hand to his face, unconsciously, as if he wanted to mimic Batman’s touch, and drops it quickly. “I just need a moment, alright?” He sounds annoyed again.

Bruce decides to respect that. He clearly took Joker off balance - something he has always dreamt about in many of their fights, in many of their mind-games... and he would’ve never thought it would be so easy. A tiny bit of compassion. A bit of tenderness.

But it wasn’t a game anymore, was it...?

“It doesn’t look that bad, you know?” he speaks up.

Joker’s eyes finally meet his. “Not that bad? Oh, don’t you dare lie to me.”

“It feels... nice, too.”

“Are you out of your mind?” He laughs. “I know perfectly well how it _looks_ like and how it _feels_ like.”

“It doesn’t look bad and it does feel nice... to me.” Bruce repeats, correcting himself.

The smile disappears from Joker’s face. He points at Wayne with his blade.

“Well then, we already established you don’t joke, so... It’s time for you to explain yourself.”

“I was looking to find some empathy for you.”

“And?” he hisses.

“I found some.”

“_And_?”

Bruce cocks his head, amused.

“If you let me finish what I started, you’d know the answer to that one.”

Joker narrows his eyes, analyzing what he just heard, judging if Batman is lying or no. He wouldn’t joke like that, would he? After all, the way he touched him...

“I don’t need your empathy.” A small smile makes its way back into the clown’s lips. He launches forward sharply, and his knife is now barely inches away from Wayne’s face. “But I wouldn’t mind you finishing what you started.”

Bruce feels his heart drop to his stomach - he didn’t expect that reaction. The tip of the Joker’s blade dances on his skin, and it sends pleasant shivers down his spine. _God, what am I doing?_, Batman thinks. It must be a moment of weakness. Nothing more. He has always admired the criminal’s mind. He has always hated him for his villainy with so much passion, he actually missed him when he was gone. But he has never admitted neither of these feelings to himself... and now, that he saw Joker’s face, can he admit that he finds him attractive?

But... what if it’s just a test? What if the criminal is teasing him now only to find that weakness of his, which he could later use for some evil machinations? The same question as before arises in his head: is this still a game? And if it is - who’s the winner?

Now, _he_ would be disappointed if it was a game.

He hesitates for too long, and he blinks quickly as the blade makes a small cut on his cheek. Joker takes the knife back and licks the blood from it. Bruce watches it like hypnotized, feeling hot again.

“What’s the time?” the criminal asks out of a sudden.

It sounds unreal in this moment. Wayne takes a look at the watch.

“40 minutes past midnight”

“Damn, we’re late.” Without any more warning, Joker lifts himself up, and this time leaves for real.

Bruce stands as well.

“Wait, where are you going?”

The clown spins around to face him. He smiles sweetly. “To hide?”

_Hide_?, Batman repeats in his mind.

“I left a surprise for you in the restroom” the criminal explains. “But I would suggest a change of attire before you approach it.”

In this moment Bruce doesn’t even know if he should be angry or happy. He can only stare at his enemy, still wondering about what just happened between them... He’s looking for some sign that he shouldn’t have hesitated, that the clown wasn’t toying with him, that he wanted this as well.

And that’s when Joker bows his head, and says:

“Too bad we didn’t actually finish our little talk.”

He sounds genuine, and Wayne doesn’t need anything more. He lets the criminal make only a few steps away, and he rushes after him.

“Joker!” he stops him. And as the clown turns around again, Bruce grabs him by his collar, brings him close and kisses him. Joker, taken by surprise, feels like a doll in his arms at first. But then he returns the kiss, deepens it, his hands weave around Bruce’s neck. He doesn’t let go, he lets their tongues dance with each other. It’s slow, almost filled with love, and it feels so sweet and so unlike any of their fights, they both want it to last forever.

Wayne feels the clown smile against his lips, and when they part, he rests his forehead on Joker’s, and looks into his clouded eyes. He can’t help but smile too.

“Not that bad as for a bat” the criminal jokes. “So, you actually meant what you said?”

“About?”

“You know.”

Instead of responding, he touches the clown’s face again, he lets himself feel his pain. And he really isn’t disgusted, and the crooks and the imperfections of the damaged skin do feel nice. The eyes of Joker tell him that this is exactly what the clown needed now.

“Does it hurt?” Batman asks.

“Only here” Joker points with the knife to his heart. In the contrast to that, a wide grin makes its way into his lips. He pushes Bruce away.

Wayne sways, looking at his enemy with amazement. Being always passionate for their fights, he now finds a new, completely different sort of passion for this man. He’s not sure if he likes it - but he certainly doesn’t hate it.

“Where will I find you?” he asks one last time, before letting Joker walk on him, this time for good.

“What fun would there be in telling you?” the clown’s smile widens, and there can’t be a better answer.

—

Much, much time later, Batman returns to the cave at dawn. Alfred watches him undress from the batsuit, and he doesn’t even question it.

“Enjoyed the party, master Wayne?”

Bruce takes his cowl off and proceeds to undo the armor as well, thinking of what to say. He has a cut on his cheek. His body is bruised in several places.

“It started boring, Alfred. With meaningless conversations and uninteresting people. And in the end, there was a bomb to locate and disarm, the hostages to free, the criminal to deal with.”

He keeps to himself the fact that he managed to steal several kisses from the mentioned criminal.

“Sounds like the usual, sir” Alfred comments.

“Yeah” Batman smiles. “The usual.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> It will get a bit personal right now, I don’t expect anyone to read these words.  
Writing this story was my way of coping with the loss. A part of my family, a friend who lived with me for 11 years passed away - she wasn’t human, so I know some might not understand our bond - and I needed some hurt/comfort story to heal myself. She was a master of destruction, always getting on my nerves, and I was angry with her so many times, but I loved her anyway. And in the end, when she had to go, she showed me she loved me too.


End file.
